Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame With conquering limbs astride from land to land Here at our sea-washed sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch whose flame Is imprisoned lightning and her name Mother Exiles. From beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. “Keep ancient lands your storied pomp!” cries she silent lips. “Give me tired poor Your huddled masses yearning breathe free wretched refuse teeming shore. Send these homeless tempest-tost me I lift my lamp beside golden door!"